Dark Chocolate
by That Girl55
Summary: It's been four years since the Baudelaire's left the island and everything is going, well, fortunately for them. Except for Violet, that is. She's having inventor's block over a certain man from their past... Violaf Oneshot.


**Slightly AU: Olaf lives and is run off the island. **

She saw it now that she was older.

Olaf wasn't a bad person, he was a poisoned one. Poisoned by the thoughts and the ideas of money and what that money could do to him. He was never mean to the children, he never beat them or starved them, and for that she was thankful.

Violet was twenty-three years old. She was an adult, not much younger than Count Olaf was when he inherited the children. She didn't become everything she wanted to be, however. The family fortune wasn't enough to send four children to college, and Violet wasn't sure she would be able to adjust to university life so quickly anyways.

Violet became an engineering teacher and an inventor on the side, and Klaus went to college. He wanted to be a librarian.

She'd taken over the role of caretaker, Sunny was nine years old already. She had very little memory of their parents or of the earlier years spent running from Olaf. Beatrice wasn't far behind her, five years old already.

It had been four years since they'd left the island, and Violet had put them right back in Manhattan, a new house being built where the old one stood. The lot was still empty, mostly because the neighbors claimed it was cursed. It had been almost ten years since the fire when Violet had it rebuilt, and to her surprise no one recognized her. It didn't matter, her last name said it all. The Baudelaires had returned to New York.

But with Klaus away at university and the girls at school, Violet had a lot of time on her hands. Mostly she used it to invent, but lately she'd been unable to. Whenever she started, Olaf invaded her mind. She couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to go see him.

Which led her to the place where she is now, back at Count Olaf's mansion. Violet was oddly nervous to see him, scared of what he'd think of her after all these years. She was a grown woman now, able to hold her own. She was no longer the scared little girl that stood opposite him at the alter.

Sucking in a breath, she knocked on the door. There was no answer, the door swung open on it's own.

"Hello?" Violet asked, walking into the house. If possible it was even filthier than before. The orphans had at least kept it acceptable clean, but in their absence it had fallen apart. "Count?"

There was a moment of silence as she thought about leaving, walking back out and pretending she'd never came. But she had to satisfy her curiosity.

A woman or a man came down the stairs, shocking Violet. She'd forgotten about these people, how often they'd hung around the house. She'd probably walked in on a party.

"You," He/she said, walking towards Violet. "He's been waiting for you for a very long time, you know. Almost too long."

"What do you mean?" Violet asked. "He had no idea I was coming."

"Exactly," The man scoffed. "The Count hasn't risen from his bed in years, not since word got out that you orphans had gotten off the island."

"He's not..._scared_ of me, is he?" Violet said, remembering how she'd frightened him into leaving the island the last time. That trick with the harpoon did the job, and he took off immediately after.

"The count is not a coward! Oh no, my dear, he was worried about you." He/She grinned, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "The poor man's never shaken his feelings for you, no matter what woman he has he screams out 'Violet,' every time."

"That's disturbing." She lied. Really, she found it quite attractive.

"It's alright to be attracted to him, you know." They said as Violet approached the bedroom door. "You're a grown woman now, and he's really an attractive man."

"Right," Violet said, entering the room. "Thank you."

But he/she was already gone.

"Who is it?" Olaf's voice infiltrated her head. It was beautiful, resounding throughout her skull. It wasn't cruel like she'd remembered, but something else both dark and wonderful.

"Violet," She answered harshly, trying to stand her ground. "Violet Baudelaire."

"I know only one Violet and that is you, my darling." He rolled over to face her in the bed, squinting his eyes. He looked sad then. "My, how you've grown."

"My, how you've deteriorated." She retaliated. "Four years does that to you."

"Four years of loneliness doesn't help much of anything, love." He groaned, sitting up in bed. "What are you here for? Money? I have none of that."

"You're a bad liar," She grinned. "But no. I'm here to apologize, Count."

"For what?"

"We were a bit hard on you," She blushed.

"Yes, I suppose you were. My least favorite thing, however, was your blain refusal to marry me."

"You only wanted my money." She shook her head.

"And you know that's not true."

She sucked in a breath, staring at the ground as his words sunk into her.

"Maybe, if you would've made your terms more clear, I would've been more agreeable."

"You don't have in a hair ribbon." He said, changing the topic suddenly.

"There's nothing left to invent." she laughed sadly, sitting on the bed beside him.

"Tell me, love, do you find joy in anything anymore?" He grinned at her. Despite his disheveled appearance his breath was minty and he smelled fresh.

She wanted to tell him yes, that she liked her job good enough and she loved watching Sunny and Beatrice play. She liked hearing about Klaus' days at school and about mothers pulling babies out from under cars. Still, there was something missing. Some kind of emptiness that her siblings and Beatrice couldn't fill. But that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.

"No," She said simply. "Not since you've left."

Violet blushed, shocking herself. She didn't know the second part was true until she spoke it aloud.

"Are you coming home to me then, Orphan?" He looked down at the sheets, afraid for her answer.

"I believe I am, count." She smiled, leaning in to kiss him. He fell back against the pillows, seeming to make a miraculous recovery from whatever was ailing him for the past four years, and Violet straddled his chest.

He/she walked by then, smiling, and shut the bedroom door.


End file.
